In the mornings I head out for a run. It is still dark out and as I make my way I
have to give all my attention to that which is just ahead of me so that I don’t
trip on an unseen hazard or get hit by someone driving who is already at work
in their minds and not paying attention to what is around them. I try to lessen the load of my run by
escaping it with my thoughts, but my body screams as it is so rudely awakened
by my intentional use of already sore muscles and aging joints, and it won’t
let me.
As I turn the corner onto Beach Blvd. I get a glimpse of the
goal of my run. Just a mile ahead is the
intercoastal bridge, my old nemesis.
Each morning it both challenges me with its grade and it beckons me with
the suns rays that begin to color the sky. I have timed it just right with the
sunrise. I keep going and my gait picks up in
anticipation of the promise of making the summit of the bridge. As I climb the bridge I know that just a mile
and a half away (we runners always know our distances from landmark to
landmark) the sun has breached with intensity and almost violence the morning
horizon of the Atlantic Ocean. Light
meets dark with an explosion of energy and promise. But my view of this grand event is blocked
even at the top of the bridge. So as I
pause to catch my breath and rest my already weary body, my gaze turns to the
intercoastal waters. Here the suns rays
color the waters gently. There are not
sharp lines, just soft washes of rose, lavender and yellow.
The usually busy intercoastal filled with fisherman, sailors
and motor boats towing children on waveriders are absent this time of day. The water is flat and calm. The boats in the adjoining marina wait
expectantly for their captains to arrive.
At that moment, I don’t hear the cars dash by me, hurrying their drivers
on to the busyness of the day. I am alone with the occasional dragonfly and
the crane below searching for its morning breakfast. In this brief respite, I am stilled and
content.
I don’t stay long.
Even just a minute as part of this magnificent landscape is enough to
carry me through the day. I turn
westward, and re-start my run. The
colors on the water instantly vanish and the water turns brown again, a blank
canvas waiting for the artist to color it anew the next morning. Meanwhile the colors have settled into my
mind and my imagination wanders to the promises ahead of me, now softly colored
in rose, lavender and yellow.
